The History Books Forgot About Us
by Singerdiva01
Summary: A planned series of short scenes between Laura Roslin & Billy Keikaya. Some humor, some angst, all looks at what posterity will never know about what went on behind the scenes of the Roslin administration. Spoliers up to 'Sacrifice' to be safe.
1. Mr Chicken Legs

Title: Mr. Chicken Legs & Madame Carrot Top

Set sometime after Home, Part II. Pure fluff.

* * *

Life in the office of the president post-Kobol, in Billy Keikaya's eyes, was good. President Roslin had for Gods knew what reason actually thanked him for abandoning her on the hangar deck - something about sticking with one's principles being a sign of character - and she was on the whole happier than before the ordeal. Her contentious relationship with Commander Adama had, by all indications, become a real partnership and their new trust in one another seemed to have eased the burdens of leadership that had plagued the president since the destruction of the Colonies.

In fact, Billy thought as he dumped tea leaves into two mugs and waited for the kettle to sing, he'd gone from having to assure Dee and her military compatriots that his boss was not frakking the younger Adama to slapping down rumors that she'd set her sights on the elder model. He would defend Laura Roslin's honor at any cost but he sometimes wondered privately if the conspiratorial looks the two leaders shared as they met late into the night sprung from something decidedly more intimate than new friendship.

Pushing aside all disturbing thoughts of his beloved adopted mother doing anything of the horizontal nature with anyone _ever_, he grabbed both mugs and headed for the curtain that served as a door to the president's office. He walked to the brown leather chair where she was sitting, glasses perched on her nose as she studied the file in her lap, and held out one of the mugs.

Laura smiled up at him and hummed appreciatively before taking it with one hand and tossing the report on the side table with the other. She gestured for him to take the seat opposite her before removing her glasses and taking a sip of the warm offering.

She hummed happily again, not even bothering to grimace at the bitter flavor the chamalla added to the drink.

"Thank you, Billy." She paused for a moment, studying his face, before fixing him with a sincere look. "I don't think I've thanked you enough for what you did for me while I was in the brig."

"Don't mention it, Madame President," Billy responded. His words sounded like a humble response to praise but he meant them literally. He still had dreams about finding the president collapsed on the floor of the brig, clutching her head in pain and muttering incoherently and he did not at all enjoy the disturbing reminder.

If his expression betrayed discomfort at the frightening memory, Laura didn't notice as she'd been reminded of one of her own. "I thought for a minute you were going to do something stupid, try to grab the guard's gun and play hero. You scared me, Billy."

The young man snorted and responded without thinking, caught for a moment in the outrage he'd been feeling that day. "Madame President, I would have shot everyone in the frakking fleet if it would have helped get you your frakking drugs."

Billy immediately flushed when he saw President Roslin's surprised expression, realizing the implications of what he'd just said and the crude way in which he'd said it.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he stuttered. "I meant, I mean I...frak." His face turned a deeper shade of red as he used the word again, prompting a musical peal of presidential giggles.

He looked at her, confusion crossing his features.

She managed to stop laughing just enough to respond, a wide smile gracing her lips.

"You're so sweet, Billy. And you're absolutely adorable when you get embarrassed." She paused before dissolving into another fit of giggles that shook her body enough to threaten the stability of the mug in her hand.

Billy looked at her warily, momentarily worried he'd put way more chamalla in the president's drink than he thought. A weak "well...thanks" was all he could manage, which made Laura feel slightly bad for teasing him. Not bad enough, however, to stop herself from continuing.

"I'm sorry, Billy. I just remembered the look on your face when you tripped in that huge hole on Kobol and got mud all over your suit. It was priceless."

Billy rolled his eyes at the memory and thought quickly for any excuse that might redeem his dignity. "Hey! I was trying to get to you. I thought you were going to fall."

"Really? Even though I was fifteen feet away at the time," she asked incredulously.

"Yeah, well, so I was in a bit of a hurry," he said defensively, trying to remember the exact series of events and hoping his boss had been too preoccupied with things like _saving all of humanity_ to have actually caught the whole humiliating episode.

Laura's eyes sparkled with amusement as she reached forward and patted his knee in mock comfort. "I was sitting down, dear," she said. "On the ground. I remember because Starbuck practically fell on top of me laughing when you, um, stumbled back into the mud while trying to get up."

Billy groaned inwardly but laughed for the president's sake. Starbuck and the other pilots had tormented him about his two left feet the entire rest of the trip. He was less than pleased that his normally supportive mentor had decidedly to belatedly join the game.

The president pasted an innocent smile on her face. "Oh, Billy, don't look so humiliated. It couldn't have been as bad as the time you told Dee she had supple skin!"

This time Billy didn't suppress his groan but punctuated it by burying his face in his hands and shaking his head.

"I can't believe I told you that," he said, his voice slightly muffled from behind his fingers. "And with all due respect, ma'am, you're mean. I feel like I'm back in grade school, reliving 'Billy's dumbest moments' for the pleasure of the bigger boys."

Laura smiled sympathetically. Her years of experience as a teacher had long ago told her that this sweet young man probably made an easy target for classroom bullies in his younger years. She thought, not for the first time, that it was one of the many things that made her feel so maternal toward him.

"Yes, I can imagine the combination of really tall and freakishly smart made grade school a little rough for you."

Billy chuckled at the compliment and the accuracy of the statement.

"Yes, ma'am. I had to move three Colonies away for college just to find somewhere no one knew me as 'Chicken Legs.'" His face reddened as the dreaded taunt crossed his lips.

"Chicken Legs?" Laura giggled again. "That's rough. Well, if it makes you feel any better life as redhead wasn't very easy when I was a kid." She leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered her voice to a mock whisper. "Mine was 'Carrot Top.' I pretty much had to get control of an airlock to get rid of that one!"

Billy broke into a wide grin as he imagined his elegant president using her favorite problem solving technique to get revenge on her high school tormentors.

Their laughter was interrupted by a buzzing from the comm, signaling that Commander Adama had arrived for his meeting with President Roslin.

Laura put her mug down and reached for Billy's hand, pulling him closer to plant a fond kiss on his cheek. "Time to get back to work, Mr. Chicken Legs," she whispered playfully near his ear.

Before she could pull away Billy took the opportunity to whisper back, just as kindly, "Yes, Madame Carrot Top." She rested her forehead against his as they broke into a final run of giggles.

"Um. Am I interrupting? What exactly is going on here?" Commander Adama's rumbling voice announced his entry into the room and Laura caught the slightly scandalized look that crossed his face as he took in the sight of the president nose to nose with her much younger aide, their fingers intertwined at her knee.

Quickly deciding that the only thing more fun than winding Billy up was messing with him and the Commander at the same time, Laura placed her free hand on Billy's leg and smiled sweetly at Adama.

"I'm just teaching Billy here something about women," she purred, lifting an eyebrow slowly for good measure.

The look on Bill Adama's face turned to abject horror and Billy, who'd been a little behind the curve, suddenly realized what this situation must look like. He practically leapt away from the president, standing so quickly that the chair he'd been sitting in spun slightly.

He looked, in turn, at the two most powerful people in the remainder of the worlds and wished that hole on Kobol would appear on Colonial One to finish swallowing him whole.

Laura stood to rescue her aide, patting him on the back before giving him a gentle shove toward the door. "Alright, alright. You're free to run as fast as your little legs can take you." Bill had no idea what to make of the wink she shot the boy before he turned on his heels to go.

Billy shuffled toward the curtain but, upon hearing another muffled female laugh behind him, couldn't resist at least trying to even the score with his boss. He stopped directly in front of the Commander and said, dramatically and loud enough for the president to hear, "good luck, sir. You're going to need it."

Satisfied with the very unpresidential squeak he heard behind him, he walked calmly from the room without turning back.


	2. Shattered

Title: Shattered

Set sometime before Epiphanies. Pure angst.

* * *

Billy looked up from the report he was reading aloud when he heard the president inhale sharply from where she was standing near the window on the other side of the cabin. She was leaning against the bulkhead, features contorted in pain, as she grasped desperately at her breast.

He was at her side in an instant, a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Ma'am, are you alright?"

Laura grimaced, trying to fight off the weakness brought on by the sudden searing pain. She forced back tears as her knees betrayed her and she began to slide helplessly down the cool metal wall. Billy caught her with an arm around her waist and supported her into the chair that was blessedly only a few steps away

"Oh Gods," she breathed, clutching at her chest again. Usually the pain disappeared as quickly as it came but this time it was pounding down in waves, white spots dotting her vision as each one grew more intense.

Billy knelt down beside the chair and took her hand, which she squeezed tightly.

"It's alright, Madame President. Breathe through it," he said soothingly. She clenched her eyes shut and took a few panting breaths. It helped until another strike crested and she was unable to suppress a sharp yelp.

This time her vision started to go black and she blinked furiously, struggling to stay conscious. "Billy, I...I think I'm going to pass out," she gasped, her voice weak and terrified.

Billy's eyes widened in alarm but he simply squeezed her hand comfortingly, trying to steady his voice before speaking.

"Alright. I'm here, you're sitting down, it's ok." He wanted to run to the wireless to call for help but he didn't dare leave leave the president's side. He watched her body flail with panic for a few more moments before her back arched a final time and she slumped forward, motionless.

Frightened but ultimately grateful for the respite unconsciousness gave her, Billy put one hand on each of the president's shoulders and gently laid her back against the chair. He noted with relief that her breathing seemed normal. Had he not been witness to her struggle he would have thought she was simply asleep.

Stroking her hand absently, Billy considered his options. He knew the president wouldn't want him to call Cottle and have her rushed to Life Station. That would mean addressing the press about her cancer again and everyone wanted to avoid that for as long as possible. He decided to wait a few minutes to see if she woke on her own before sounding the alarm.

Those minutes were agonizing but Billy's heart leapt when his boss' eyelids fluttered and then opened. Laura gasped when she saw him and immediately started to pull her body up in a confused attempt to stand. Billy put a hand on her shoulder and held her in place.

"Easy, ma'am. Give it a minute," he advised.

She looked around apprehensively and, when she realized they were alone, nodded weakly. "What happened?"

"You passed out. How are your feeling now, Madame President?"

Laura groaned inwardly as she remembered but was grateful the pain from the tumor in her traitorous breast had subsided to a familiar dull ache. For now.

"I'm sorry, Billy. I'm ok now," she said, resolutely. Billy studied her features, trying to figure out whether or not she was telling the truth.

"Are you sure? Do you want me to call Cottle? Maybe we can get you something stronger for the pain." He knew the answer before the question was out of his mouth.

The president's eyes filled with tears as she shook her head sadly. She was already on the strongest painkillers she could take without being knocked flat on her back and she was determined not to live out her final days drugged beyond comprehension. She knew this little episode was a signal that pain would be a constant now and that knowledge increased her resolve to get as much done as possible while she still could.

"Oh, Billy. There's nothing else the doctor can do." Seeing the fear in her aide's eyes, she tried to reassure him. "It's alright, honey. I'm going to fight as long as I can. Please try not to be scared. I think watching this probably hurts a lot more than experiencing it does."

Laura thought that to be true, anyway. She shuddered at the memory of her mother's agonized screams as the tumors that had spread to her bones shattered her ribs from the inside. At that moment, she'd wanted to die right there along with her. Laura hoped, for both herself and Billy, that the cancer simply killed her in her sleep before it got that bad.

Billy fought back tears of his own. He would never leave Laura Roslin to suffer alone but he could hardly bear to imagine anything worse than what he'd just witnessed. Unlike her, he didn't know from experience what more to expect but understood from the haunted look in her eyes that it could, and probably would, get much much worse.

"Alright, ma'am," he said, impressed with the evenness of his own voice. "What can I do for you? Do you want to lie down for a bit?"

Laura shook her head, a serene smile on her lips. "No, no. Too much work to do. Help me to my desk and we'll pick up where we left off?"

Billy suppressed a sigh and stood before bending down to offer the president his arm. He was momentarily heartened by the fact that she barely leaned on him as they walked but he sobered when he remembered that these little signs of hope were false, nothing more than the iron will of an incredible woman determined to work until the very moment death came for her.

After they'd finished going through the remaining reports the president shooed Billy out of the room to get on the phone with the Commander, assuring him with a smile that she would be fine. As he closed the curtain a fury so intense his body trembled rose in his chest. He didn't believe in the Gods but she did and he cursed them for being hateful motherfrakkers.

Before he registered what he was doing Billy picked up a mug sitting on his desk and threw it against the bulkhead. His chest relaxed slightly as he watched it shatter into a thousand pieces but his pleasure turned to shame when he heard the president call out from the other room.

"Are you alright, Billy?" Her voice was tinged with worry.

He sighed and called back. "I'm fine, Madame President." Once he heard her resume her conversation he walked over to start picking up the mess but instead found himself sliding down the wall to the floor. He put his head in his hands and cried.


	3. Material Consequences

Laura Roslin was coping with her impending death by focusing on practicalities. How long she could hold on versus the date Lee Adama set for the elections. Balancing the people's need for a presidential funeral and the impracticality of expending precious resources on pomp and circumstance for a dead woman. She'd even written the press release to be issued when she was taken to Life Station for the last time - "resting comfortably" my ass, she'd thought sarcastically as she wrote the words - and the statement for when it was all finally over. She hoped desperately that her aides would be able to insert "died peacefully in her sleep" where she flagged [circumstance] in bold.

But Billy was not a practicality. He was barely more than a boy and she recognized the haunted, terrified look that had settled permanently in his eyes since the pain came more frequently and she increasingly needed to lean on his arm to keep upright. It was the same look she saw in the mirror the day it finally, truly settled into her soul that her mother was soon going to be gone forever.

When she saw his lanky frame balled up near the wall, sobbing and surrounded by the ceramic remains of a mug she recognized as his favorite, a pain much different than the earlier one shot through her chest. She'd been selfish in allowing herself to pretend that her death would have only material consequences and she was suddenly filled with a determination to make this better for him, if it ever could be, than what she'd experienced with her mother.

Before Billy could register what was happening, Laura Roslin was on the floor at his side, pulling him into her arms and settling his head against her shoulder.

"Oh, Billy, honey," she soothed, running her hand gently up and down his back.

He instinctively leaned into her comforting embrace but then his brain registered the absurdity of a very ill woman sitting on the floor holding him while he cried about her death. Holding him very securely to the same chest that had just an hour ago been so inflamed she passed out from the pain. He pulled away quickly, trying to dry his eyes with the backs of his hands.

"I'm so sorry, Madame President. What do you need? Are you alright?" He struggled to keep the tears out of his voice as he untucked his legs in preparation to stand but he sounded, as he felt, on the verge of losing control.

She grasped his wrist and shook her head before pulling him back into her arms with surprising strength. "Billy, it's ok. Stay here. I'm here."

S_till here_, she meant but didn't say. The implication was enough to uncork the torrent of tears still lurking just beneath the surface. Billy rested his head on the president's shoulder and sobbed harder than he ever remembered crying before. Laura held him tightly and drew soothing circles on his back, punctuating the movements with soft, consoling hums.

Finally, after a number minutes neither of them worried to count, his sobs slowed and he pulled himself carefully away from her embrace. He looked at the floor, unsure how to thank his mentor for her comfort, much less talk to her about why he'd needed it.

She took his chin in her hand and directed his eyes toward her own. When she spoke, her voice echoed the sadness, determination, and love he saw in them.

"Hey." When he looked down from her gaze she gently shifted his head up again, demanding a reciprocal response.

"Hey." He was blinking back tears again.

"This sucks, huh?"

Billy chuckled despite himself. The president looked rightfully pissed and something about that was soothing as well. It meant she was still fighting which was infinitely better than the prophet martyr thing that still made him so uncomfortable.

"Yeah, it does," he agreed. He hesitated. "It's not fair, Madame President. I mean, it's not fair to you and…" He trailed off.

"And it's not fair to you either." She put her hand under his chin and again directed his eyes toward her own. "Look at me, Billy. You know you don't have to do this. I can get someone else to help me and you can still visit me…"

"No!" He cut her off harshly and immediately blushed at the intensity of his response. "I mean, I don't want to leave you. I don't think I could live with myself...I mean, I think it's better in the end to be here." He gave her a pained look. "Ma'am, you don't have to talk to me about this. I mean…"

She smiled sadly. "What, it seems a little morbid to talk to me about how you feel about my death?" When his only response was to look at the floor again, she continued. "I felt that way too, you know, with my mother. I never wanted to burden her with my grief. Now that I'm on the other side, I think talking about what you're going through will help me worry less about how you'll go on after I'm gone."

He looked alarmed. She already had so much to worry about and he didn't want to be one of the many things on that list. "Please don't worry about me, Madame President. I'll..." He choked back a stray sob when he realized what he'd almost just said, prompting Laura to reach for his hand again.

"Yes, you'll survive. But I want you to do more than that. You're so young and have such a future ahead of you. I wish more than anything I could be here to see it." Billy squeezed her hand tightly when her eyes filled with tears.

"How did you, you know, after your mother died?" He wanted to distract her but he also wanted to know. He'd almost forgotten that she was the one person who knew exactly what this was like.

Laura's harsh laugh wasn't exactly encouraging. "I didn't really, at first. I just lay in bed and cried. I stopped eating and I even stopped going to work. I wished I'd died with her. But it got better slowly. My friends finally decided they'd had enough and pulled me back into life again but it took a while. I'd think of something I wanted to tell her and reach for the phone. I cried a lot at my desk. But eventually I could think of her without getting sad. I could remember the good times and be grateful for them."

Billy was quiet, again staring at the pieces of ceramic dotting the floor.

"I know it's hard to imagine that right now, Billy. Not when you're still feeling...well whatever it was that prompted this," she said, gesturing at the remnants of the mug.

He blushed. "I'm sorry about that, ma'am. I'll clean this up." He started to get up again but she shook her head.

"No, no. I'm not upset about that. Tell me. Tell me what happened today felt like for you. Please." Her voice was soft and soothing, prompting another rush of tears that Billy tried valiantly to fight back.

"I guess I was angry," he said hesitantly. She nodded, prompting him to continue. "I'm angry that this is happening to you. I guess I always knew it would but it's...different than I thought."

"It's scary." It was a statement, not a question. "Well, it for damned sure scared me so I'm sure it wasn't easy to watch. I'm so sorry, Billy, to make you go through this. Is there anything I can do for you, sweetie. Anything to make it better?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Um, shouldn't I be asking you that, Madame President?"

"Oh, Billy," she breathed, "you do so much every day to make it better, truly. You're the best gift I could have gotten at the end of the worlds. But I do want you to promise me something, ok?"

"Anything, ma'am." He looked at her earnestly.

"I want you to promise to start talking to Dee about what you're feeling. Soon. Please." When he started to protest she put her hand up and continued. "I know you don't want to betray my privacy but the Commander trusts Dee and so do you and I need to know you'll have a friend to help you if I, well, when I can't."

"Ok," he said with a hesitant nod. Keeping the president's secrets from everyone no matter what would be a hard habit to break.

"Promise me, Billy," the president insisted, looking directly into his eyes.

"I promise, Madame President." She nodded, relieved, and pulled him to her one more time, holding the embrace until she was sure she could control her tears.

"Ok. Feel any better?"

Billy was surprised when he thought about it and realized he did. Nothing had changed. She was still dying and it was still going to get worse and yet acknowledging it rather than pretending it wasn't happening had lifted a bit of the lead from the pit of his stomach.

"Actually, yes, Madame President. Thank you." He smiled, genuinely, and she returned the gesture.

"Good. Me too. Let's do this again sometime," she said, her voice taking on a playful note. "Except, this office is made of chairs. Let's try somewhere other than this floor next time, ok?"

"Oh, Gods! I'm sorry." He put his arm around the president's waist and gently helped her into a standing position.

"Alright, I'm going to lie down for a little while. Why don't you clean up this mess and then take off to see Dee? You don't have to talk to her about this tonight. I know you're planning on going to the observation deck and I can imagine much more fun things to be doing there. Things that don't involve so much talking." Her eyes sparkled mischievously and he blushed at the innuendo.

"Well, um," he stuttered, shifting his feet nervously under her gaze. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"Oh, yes. I'll be here waiting for a full report when you get back. Actually, sympathy sex wasn't so bad, if I remember correctly. If I can be of use to you there…" She laughed as she turned away from him, ignoring his strangled noise of protest.

He was too caught up in his own embarrassment to see that the president had slipped one of the tan slivers of ceramic into her coat pocket before she left. When she got to her room she placed it gently into her drawer, alongside her prayers dolls, a private reminder that her death might have more than material consequences after all.


	4. Worst Case Scenario

Billy didn't actually want to report back to the president on his make-out session with Dee but he did want to check on her. He'd left her lying in listlessly in bed and while she'd assured him that she was fine and going to bed shortly he knew _he'd_ sleep better once he confirmed she was alright.

It was with those good intentions that he approached the curtain leading to the president's bedroom. As he got closer he heard a series of soft moans and immediately quickened his pace. The best case scenario that went through his mind in the few seconds it took him to reach the entrance was that his boss was having one of her chamalla induced dreams. The worst was that she was collapsed helplessly on the floor and had been for who knows how long.

He threw back the curtain and rushed into the room. "Madame President? Are you alr…?" He trailed off as he took in the scene before him. Turns out, he thought detachedly, there was actually a worse worst case scenario.

Specifically, Commander Adama's bare ass. The Commander's bare ass thrusting vigorously, encircled by a long set of bare presidential legs. Blessedly Laura Roslin's upper body was covered with a sheet but it was quite clear by the way her head was thrown back on the pillows that the president of the Twelve Colonies was definitely not moaning in pain.

Her eyes flew open as she registered Billy's voice and the Commander craned his neck to shoot him a glare.

"Oh, Gods. Sorry," he squeaked before turning to flee the room. Unfortunately he wasn't fast enough to miss the loud peal of giggles that turned into a long moan as the two leaders of humanity got back to business.

Billy had never been much of a drinker but at that moment he thanked the Gods that there was an illegal makeshift bar in the bowels of _Colonial One_ and that he'd not gotten around to ratting them out to the president. He made his way to the room, rapped on the door in the pattern he'd learned from one of President Roslin's guards, and sunk down on a stool.

He ordered a double and downed it in one shot. Sympathy sex indeed, Madame President, he thought ruefully before ordering another.

* * *

When Billy reported for work the next morning, late and definitely hungover, he had recovered from his shock enough to be grateful that it seemed to be one of the president's good days in that he found her dressed and working behind her desk.

"Good morning, Madame President. You're looking well," he said, his gaze focused somewhere above her head. As childish and cliche as he knew it was, he wasn't really sure he'd ever be able to look his boss in the eye again.

Laura looked up and raised an eyebrow, a smile pulling at her lips. She wasn't exactly looking forward to discussing the previous night but she figured she was going to get out of it plenty of opportunities to torment her sweet aide and that, in her mind, was the bright side.

"Thanks, Billy. About last night…," she began.

Billy interrupted her, although he was looking now directly at the floor. "I'm sorry I barged in, Madame President. Won't happen again."

"It's alright, Billy. I assume I can count on your discretion?"

"Of course, Madame President!" His sounded affronted that she even felt the need to ask. He shuffled his feet before speaking again, his voice almost a whisper.

"It's just...well," he sputtered before losing his nerve. He fought the urge to run.

"What, Billy? Didn't know I had it in me?" Laura laughed at her phrasing. "Perhaps not the best choice of words." She put her glasses back on and looked down at the reports on her desk innocently but not before she saw Billy's face turn an interesting shade of crimson.

"Oh Gods, no! It's just, well, I mean, are you sure it's wise in your condition?" He actually clapped his hand over his mouth as the sentence tumbled out. He was now definitely never going to be able to look the president in the eyes again.

Laura looked up and appraised him over her glasses for a moment, allowing him to suffer under her gaze before speaking in her most presidential tone.

"Well, Mr. Keikeya, I chose you as my chief spokesperson because I believe in your ability to communicate sensitive matters to the press in a way that best serves the office of the president and the fleet."

When she paused, he nodded warily though he was increasingly concerned as to what the hell the Colonial Press Corps had to do with any of this.

"So, she continued seriously, "in the unlikely event the Commander fraks me to death, I'm confident you'll know how to deal appropriately with the situation."

Laura watched, delighted, as the color drained from Billy's face. His features contorted in fear as he imagined that particular manner of death for her then in embarrassment as he saw himself standing at the podium and spinning something so absurd. He cringed when it occurred to him that there might really be a better way for the president to die than in her sleep.

Laura lit on that thought at the same time and their eyes met. They knew each other well enough to know what the other was thinking and it was her who looked away first this time.

Billy recovered his voice, although it was about an octave higher than usual. "May I be excused, Madame President?"

"Please. By all means," Laura said, shooing him away with her hand and looking down, hiding an odd look that appeared on her face as she entertained a slightly morbid sexual fantasy.

When Billy returned to his desk he took out a 'Maintenance Request' form and cc'd the Commander and his staff, which indicated a high level priority from the office of the president. It was about time that poor, dying President Roslin at least had a real door on her bedroom.

When the form was returned with the necessary approvals a day later, 'ASAP' was scrawled in the 'Notes' section in the Commander's unmistakable loopy handwriting.


	5. Codetta

Billy tried to keep his voice calm and professional as he rescheduled the president's appointments. He'd only left her only a few minutes ago but a little voice in the back of his head was telling him he needed to check on her.

She'd been fine this morning. Well, as fine as she could be these days, which meant that she'd asked for help getting dressed and settled behind her desk to work rather than staying in bed. But she was only able to hold herself upright for a little over an hour before Billy could no longer ignore her winces of pain and increasing distraction. He started to get worried when she didn't even argue with his suggestion that she retire to her room to rest.

His anxiety increased tenfold when, after he'd helped her slowly to her bed, she pulled him into a weak and careful hug before letting him help her lie down. She'd whispered "thank you" into his ear with such intention that he knew she was talking about more than the arm to lean on. When she told him to go reschedule her meetings for the day, he'd promised to check on her as soon as he was done. Her eyes closed before he could get the promise he wanted in return.

_Please still be here when I get back. _

When he finally got the meetings rescheduled, he entered the president's room quietly. He immediately heard the terrifying sound of her struggling for breath and ran across the room to kneel next to her bed.

She looked up at him, eyes frantic, as her chest heaved. "I'm sorry, Billy," she gasped and as he brushed a tear from her cheek, he realized that she'd known this was coming when she hugged him earlier. She'd been hoping to die before anyone found her and he almost hated her for it.

"It's ok, Madame President. Don't try to talk. I'm going to get help." She wanted to object but couldn't form the words before Billy ran from the room screaming at another aide to call for a medical transport.

When he returned just a minute later the president was struggling even harder for breath and her gasps were punctuated by moans of pain as the involuntary movements racked her aching body. She clutched weakly for the blanket pooled around her thighs and Billy was frightened to note that she seemed to have lost any semblance of coordination.

"Ma'am, let me do that," Billy said as he reached over and carefully pulled the blanket up. He caught her shaking hand and held it in his own. It was freezing, as if the life had already left her. He started praying to her Gods for the medics to hurry.

"Can't. Breathe," she moaned, grasping at something above her that Billy couldn't see.

"I know, ma'am and I'm so sorry. Try to focus on one breath at a time." Billy knew his advice was useless but he didn't know what else to say. He'd never felt so helpless in his life.

His already racing heart skipped a beat when the president's head rolled to the side and her eyes closed.

"No, no. Wake up, Madame President" he pleaded, "please, stay with me." He ran his thumb across her cheek and let out an audible sigh of relief when her eyes flew open. They were unfocused and he knew she was confused, which frightened her, and was only adding to her difficulty breathing.

He tried to keep his voice steady as he reminded the president where she was, that help was on the way, and that the doctor would give her something for the pain soon. He wasn't certain she heard him - she seemed to be lapsing in and out of consciousness and her gasps for breath were now interspersed with sharp cries - but every once in a while her eyes focused and caught his gaze. He forced back tears when she tried to smile reassuringly at him.

After what seemed like an eternity, the team of medics rushed through the door. Billy reluctantly dropped the president's hand and moved back to allow them to surround her. One pulled out an oxygen mask and moved to place it over her face. Billy heard her cry out a strangled protest and saw through the mass of bodies that she was weakly trying to push it away.

"You're frightening her! She doesn't understand what you're doing," he said loudly from the corner but no one seemed to be listening. When he heard his boss cry out again, he elbowed his way into the circle and positioned himself above the president's head. She relaxed visibly when her eyes found his face.

"Give me that," he ordered, motioning for the mask. Once the medic released it, he held it pointedly in Laura's eyeline.

"Madame President, I'm going to put this over your nose and mouth to help you breathe, ok?" A look of understanding crossed her eyes and when he gently put the mask in place she didn't protest.

"Was that so frakking hard?" Billy turned to glare at the medic whose only response was to motion for him to move back to his place near the wall. The young man seemed to have learned a lesson about dealing with the president and her terrified aide, however, because a moment later he leaned down and told her that they were going to move her to a stretcher.

Billy winced. The cancer had gone to the president's bones in the last few days and even the slightest touch or movement that she didn't carefully and slowly initiate was screamed pitifully as the medic lifted her body to carry her the few necessary steps. He could tell from the change in her labored breathing that she was crying by the time the team had her settled and ready to move.

"Ok, let me get to her," he said as he once again forced his way to the president's side. He took her hand and used his free one to wipe the tears from her face, which was contorted in pain.

Everyone on the shuttle, pilot included, would have agreed it felt like the longest trip to Galactica ever logged. By the time the Battlestar was in sight the president was mostly unconscious although she jolted awake every few minutes to look around, seemingly to put figure out what was happening. Each time her aide would squeeze her hand and mutter comforting words into her ear that the medics couldn't quite hear.

Once she was transferred to a bed - a move that she blessedly didn't seem to register - and hooked up to machines, Cottle leaned over her, a sad and resigned look on his face.

"Can you hear me, Madame President?" When he got no response, he turned his sad look on the boy hovering worriedly nearby.

"Let's make her as comfortable as possible," he said before walking away to get a nurse.

Billy stepped closer to the president and wrapped her delicate fingers through both sets of his own. She tried again to smile reassuringly at him but the gesture turned to a grimace when a new wave of pain ricocheted through her body.

"Oh, Gods," she gasped. He struggled to find comforting words but couldn't manage anything other than "it's alright" and that was a lie she'd insisted he stop using as a crutch when things got frightening. He settled for massaging the cold, trembling hand he was holding, trying to warm it in his own.

It was only when Cottle returned and gave him an odd look did Billy realize the soothing humming sounds, the president's signature method of reassurance, were coming from his own throat.


	6. Overture

Four days. He'd been watching her die for four days.

For some reason Billy had always imagined President Roslin's death would be elegant, like the woman herself. Like in the movies, where the heroine simply succumbs to her illness with a final flutter of her eyes moments after uttering poetic last words.

Death could, perhaps, be considered romantic or noble if it fit the plot. Dying, in the realm of real life, was undignified and harrowing and cruel.

President Roslin's decline was breaking even the great and stoic Admiral William Adama. On the second day she was in LifeStation Billy had returned from an enforced break to find the older man tracing the angry bruises on her arms, the result of fragile skin and many, many needles, while tears ran unchecked down his face. Before the Admiral noticed his presence, Billy heard him muttering "oh, Laura" mournfully over and over again to her still form.

The meetings the president insisted on holding were the hardest for Billy. It was pure force of will by which she got through them but afterward she could barely breathe or raise her head. He was the one, not the Vice President or the Admiral or anyone else, who soothed her through the excruciating spasms that shot through her chest as she struggled to regain her breath. His whole body relaxed in relief when, each time so far, she finally succeeded and sank back into that space between sleep and consciousness.

Now, on the fourth day, Laura Roslin's moments of lucidity were few and far between. When she regained consciousness she was often confused. Billy had played former President Adar in one conversation and the Admiral in another unknown dream. The worst was when she looked up at him and asked, weakly, "what's happening?"

When the president woke this time and turned her head to look at him, Billy could tell she knew exactly what was happening and he knew exactly what she wanted. He'd become an expert in reading the torment in her soft green eyes to figure out what she needed to try to fend it off. Without letting go of her hand he turned to retrieve the cup of ice sitting on the nearby table and gently spooned a tiny amount through her chapped lips. Swallowing water had become too painful, her esophagus inflamed and swollen from the advancement of the cancer.

Laura sighed gratefully at the cool sensation and Billy expected her to fall back onto the pillow into unconsciousness again. Instead she spoke in a hoarse voice that was barely above a whisper.

"Update?" She paused to gasp for breath. "On the Cylon child?"

Billy was surprised at President Roslin's ability to remember her orders but he knew he shouldn't be. His already generous estimation of her strength had increased exponentially over the past few days.

"That will be taken care of in a few hours, ma'am." He tried to keep the disapproval out of his voice. She knew he disagreed with the decision on principle. He knew she didn't have the strength to argue and would never ask her to explain herself now. She never liked to do that even under normal circumstances.

She nodded almost imperceptibly, her face impassive. "The explosion?"

Billy is annoyed that President Roslin's beloved Captain Apollo was so careless to tell her about this. His deal with the Admiral, not to upset the president with anymore unpleasant information, obviously held no sway with his son.

"Admiral Adama is handling it," he replied confidently.

"Report?" The president wasn't looking at him now, her eyes clenched shut, but Billy knew that she was asking if he had the official document detailing the incident.

"Yes, Madame President. But…" he trailed off when she clutched his hand tighter.

"Read it to me," Laura gasped, eyes still closed.

"Ma'am, it's under control. You should be resting."

"Read." She arched back in obvious pain and it took several seconds to find her voice again. "Please. Gives me something to focus on."

Resigned, Billy let go of her hand and moved to the end of the bed to sit her up just enough so she wasn't staring into the light. He returned to his chair, found the report in the president's bag that he'd been using as his own, took her hand again, and began to read.

After several minutes it was clear that the pain had become unbearable. The president was restless now, twisting her body on the bed, and muttering incoherently.

"Ma'am?"

She could still hear the young man's voice. "Read," she ordered weakly.

Billy looked at her in alarm but didn't refuse. He recited several more lines before her mutterings turned into heartbreaking whimpers. The president's formerly beautiful face was contorted in agony.

"Oh my Gods, Madame President, please. Please let me get Doc Cottle to give you a shot of morpha. You don't have to suffer like this." He couldn't keep the tears out of his voice. He could barely stand to watch. He couldn't bear to think about what this must feel like for his friend.

"No," she whispered.

Billy obeyed but couldn't continue when the president started to writhe frantically and her mutterings and whimpers turned to breathless, almost incoherent cries for help. The monitors registered her body's distress and signaled loud calls of alarm.

Billy stood to lean directly over her, his voice rising in panic. "Madame President? Madame President, can you hear me?"

Cottle, accompanied by two nurses, rushed in and surveyed the sight before him. He locked eyes with the Billy and silently asked for permission. When the young man nodded, he yelled for the nurse to inject the strongest morpha still available into the IV on the president's arm.

It took several agonizing minutes for the medicine to take effect. Finally, though, Laura's cries started to subside and her body's desperate thrashings slowed. When she finally went limp, sinking back deeply into the folds of the bed, her features had relaxed into something resembling relief.

Cottle smoothed her hair back before taking her pulse and checking one of the sensors on her arm. He shook his head mournfully.

"Notify the Admiral," he ordered one of his staff.

When the doctor released the president's arm, Billy sat down in his chair at her side and took her hand once again. He paused before looking up at the doctor, unsure what response he wanted to his question.

"She won't wake up again, will she?"

Cottle sighed. "No. But it's for the best. She's not suffering anymore. It won't be long now."

Billy's face crumpled. He didn't want Laura Roslin to die in agony but he selfishly wanted to look into her eyes one more time. Have just one more coherent conversation. He found himself wondering if he'd done enough to make sure she knew how much she meant to him.

"Keep holding her hand, son. She knows you're here." The gentleness of Cottle's tone, such a stark contrast to his usual demeanor, threatened to unloose the tears flooding to Billy's eyes.

Thankfully the doctor turned to leave before they could overflow. Once he was gone, Billy laid his head down on the bed near where his hand was intertwined with the president's and sobbed.

He woke to the pressure of a warm, strong hand on his shoulder. He looked first to President Roslin, terrified she'd let go while he slept, and huffed in relief when he saw her take a breath. Reassured, he looked up and found Admiral Adama looking down with an odd look on his face.

"Come with me for a minute, son?" Adama jerked his finger toward the curtain.

Billy hesitated. He assumed Baltar had already frakked something up and, while he might care when it became his job to deal with the mess, he wouldn't leave _his _president in her final minutes because of that frakweasel's ineptitude.

"Just for a minute. We need to hurry." Bill shot a worried look at his unconscious friend before turning his gaze back to her adopted son.

Billy rose and followed the older man to just outside the curtain where he could still watch the president's chest rise and fall.

Billy had never seen the Admiral look so scared. His eyes flashed unsurety in a way the boy was sure few people in the fleet, no the world, had ever seen before.

"Billy, Baltar has found that the blood of the Cylon fetus kills cancer cells."

When Billy looked back at him, uncomprehending, Bill continued.

"He thinks there's a chance that injecting the president with Cylon blood could cure her cancer. Or at least give her a little more time."

The younger man staggered when the Admiral finished his statement and the military man reached out to steady his weight by clutching his shoulders.

"I'm going to have him try it. I just…" Bill paused. He wasn't asking an aide not too far removed from adolescence for permission. But something about the way he'd seen the boy care for Laura all these months wouldn't allow him to do anything to her without his knowledge, if not consent.

Billy was still trying to understand what the Admiral was saying. Laura Roslin had been dying for months, much longer than anyone else knew, and while he hadn't been able to come to terms with it he had at least accepted it as fact. Now the loony Vice President and the lovestruck Admiral wanted to subject her to some crazy experiment?

"Will it hurt? Don't cause her any more pain, please. She's so spent and…" Billy's voice trailed off tearfully.

Adama patted his arm reassuringly. He was touched, not for the first time by any means, by the boy's earnest and single-minded concern for Laura's comfort.

"Baltar says it will be just like a normal blood transfusion. Cottle says he's given her enough drugs she won't know what's going on no matter what. There's no harm if it fails."

Billy looked back at the pale woman lying reasonably comfortably on the bed just inside the curtain and thought of her pleas for help hours earlier. He narrowed his eyes at the Admiral.

"Do it."

The authoritative insistence in Billy's voice was an almost perfect imitation of the way Bill had heard the president speak those words so many times before. He chose to take it as a sign that Laura might one day forgive him if, by some miracle, this crazy scheme worked.

Billy watched as one half of of humanity's leadership walked back inside the curtain, leaned down and kissed his counterpart lovingly on the forehead.

"It's ok, Laura. Don't be afraid. It's going to be alright." He lingered for several moments, stroking the president's hair and whispering into her cheek, before gruffly telling Billy he was needed in CIC.

The pure vulnerability of that gesture was part of the reason Billy could barely contain his anger when the Admiral didn't return with Baltar and the pregnant Cylon. He wondered how the man would dare order something like this done to the woman he obviously loved and refuse to be there with her when it was carried out. It was the first and only time he'd ever think of Admiral Adama as a coward.

He forgot his anger and everything else when the vice president inserted the biggest needle he'd ever seen into that thing's stomach and moved to inject the Cylon blood serum into the president's IV. His hope and curiosity turned to abject terror when President Roslin began to seize violently. Despite his promise to Cottle that he would stay out of the way no matter what happened he couldn't help but run to help the nurses turn her on her side, holding onto her legs with such desperation he would later worry he'd bruised them.

Suddenly the president stilled. Her heart monitor stopped and Billy could have sworn his own heart did as well.

Her eyes opened. The tension in the room crested as she looked up in recognition, clutching her vice president's hand before raising a delicate finger to identify him.

Billy's gasp of relief was the loudest. He smiled for what seemed like the first time in months.

What had been one of the worst days of his life had become, maybe, hopefully, the absolute best.


	7. Grounded

His boss was yelling at him. It was one of the best things that had happened to Billy Keikeya in weeks.

He tried to hide the smile pulling at his lips. Laughing right this second would not win him any points with the very pissed off president standing in front of him, arms crossed in indignation. Even attired in a silk bathrobe and fuzzy slippers Laura Roslin could still command a room and strike fear into the heart of the bravest Viper pilot.

Billy was one of the few people in the fleet who was rarely afraid of the president. But he knew from experience with this particular mood that could change quickly. There was a reason the other aides on _Colonial One_ termed the look she'd fixed him with the "I've got an airlock and I'm not afraid to use it" glare.

"I can do it on my own. Let go of me. Now." The president's voice had almost completely recovered its full timbre in the seven days since her miraculous escape from death. Well, Billy noticed but would never be dumb enough to say, it had when she wanted something. Like being allowed to walk the corridor of Life Station, as Cottle had ordered to rebuild her strength, unaided.

"Ma'am, with all due respect, you can't just yet. You'll fall. Like you did a few days ago." He still felt bad about that. He left her for _two minutes_ to get more hot water for tea and in that short timespan she'd managed to get out of bed and promptly collapse to the deck. She was thankfully mostly unscathed, save for dark, angry bruises on both of her shins. Billy had been terrified and guilty and a little bit angry. President Roslin was simply concerned the marks wouldn't fade before she had to wear one of her skirts in front of the press.

"That was forever ago. I can walk now. I'm supposed to walk. What, do you not want me to get better?"

Billy rolled his eyes. "Of course I do, Madame President."

She fixed him with a mock accusatory look. "Are you sure about that, Mr. Keikeya? Maybe you've come to enjoy fancying yourself as the puppet behind the throne. Running the president's office without involving the president. By the way, isn't that what you're supposed to be doing? Rather than holding me hostage in this awful place?" She gestured dramatically at the drab decor of LifeStation.

"Yes, ma'am. You caught me. I'm after your terrible, thankless job. And may I remind you that it's Cottle holding you here, not me?"

She scoffed. "Right, I understand now. It's collusion. You are colluding with Cottle and the Admiral to hold the president hostage. That, may I remind you young man, is highly illegal. I could have you all thrown in the brig." She paused for effect. "Or, better yet, out the airlock."

Billy tried once again not to laugh. "Alright, ma'am, you do that. And then explain to the press how you murdered the fleet's best doctor, our top military mind, and the poor boy who took care of you during your illness because you are far crazier when you're not dying than any of us ever imagined."

She intensified her glare but was more than a bit surprised when the boy didn't even have the decency to drop his amused look, much less step back in fear. She decided to change tactics.

"Billy, please. Do you know how much it _hurts_ to have your muscles liquify? I need to rebuild them as quickly as possible for my own comfort. And my sanity." She fixed the aide with a desperate look and it was not lost on Billy that her voice had taken on that weak, pleading quality he'd grown so scared of hearing.

He looked into her eyes and realized instantly that he was being played. Of course. His boss was nothing if not a consummate politician willing to use any and all resources at her disposal to get her way. He didn't really mind. She was still alive to scheme and that was enough, in his eyes, to absolve her even of trying to take advantage of his concern.

Instead of responding out of panic, as he would have a week ago, he chuckled. "You know the 'delicate, fragile beauty' act doesn't work near as well on me as it does the Admiral, Madame President."

Laura emitted a noise that resembled a growl. She'd obviously been taking tips from that very man. "Billy," she said warningly, "I'd advise you to remember to whom you are speaking." She wasn't really angry and she hated to resort to intimidating this sweet kid who, as he rightfully pointed out, had done so much for her but standing for this argument was tiring her more than she'd care to admit and she needed to win quickly.

Billy released the hold he'd had on the president's elbow throughout the exchange and threw up his arms in resignation. "Fine. Do it by yourself. I have half a mind to just leave you to fall but the Admiral really would airlock me. I'll walk beside you in case you need to hold onto my arm. That's as far as I'm willing to go."

Laura hummed happily. As far as she was concerned she had won and she wasn't about to concede otherwise. She set off resolutely in the direction of the corridor. Billy followed, shaking his head.

She was able to do the first pass relatively easily. When Billy stopped her to rest at the end she jerked away and shot him a look. By the time she'd finished the second, the maximum number the doctor said she should do, she was struggling for breath but still standing on her own power.

"Ok, good. You were right, Madame President, as usual. Now let's get you back to bed." Billy offered his elbow good naturedly and was genuinely annoyed when she swatted it away.

"No. Again," she huffed, turning carefully to retrace her steps. She was fading but the only way she was going to get out of this gods awful place was if she could prove to these overbearing men she wasn't about to collapse at any moment.

"Ma'am, you're only supposed to do two right now. There's no need to overexert yourself." Billy noticed, along with the labored breathing, that the president's cheeks were flushed and there was a sheen of sweat dotting her chest.

"Are you coming?" She walked away from him and he had no choice but to follow. As he expected, they made it half of the distance to the other end of the corridor before the president grasped for his arm and stopped, pausing to catch her breath.

He didn't bother arguing that they should turn back or she should sit down and let him get a wheelchair. It was a useless expenditure of energy and at least now, with her hand clutching his arm, he could make sure she didn't falter. He had an unfortunate amount of practice with this particular situation.

By the time they had completed the fourth lap and returned to the start Billy was practically carrying the older woman. She leaned heavily into his chest and he could feel her hot, hard breathing through the material of his shirt. He could also feel that the president's whole body was too warm and his only focus was getting her back into bed before she passed out from exhaustion.

Once he'd managed that task he retrieved a cool towel for her to rub across her face and then exchanged it for a cup of water.

She drank thirstily and put the glass down, a look of satisfaction gleaming in her eyes.

"See, that was fine. That was good, in fact." She beamed and, politician's wiles aside, Billy could tell she truly believed it.

He couldn't help but smile at her determination. It was what he so admired in Laura Roslin even if it did seem to make his life hell at least half of the time.

"What was it Cottle said earlier today, Madame President? 'Weak as a kitten and still stubborn as a mule?' One of Doc's more astute observations."

She narrowed her eyes at him. She'd not liked that little witticism from Galactica's CMO and she certainly didn't like it from Billy. "What was it _you_ said earlier? Oh, right. 'Delicate, fragile beauty act.' Don't think I'll forget that one anytime soon, mister."

"I'm sorry about that." He paused to consider it and the president's good mood. "Well, not that sorry."

That made her laugh but when he looked up to take in the visual that accompanied the musical sound he noted she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Rest, Madame President. I'll wake you when it's time for your meeting with the Admiral." She nodded as she closed her eyes and he sat down next to the chair, instinctively taking her hand.

"By the way, thank you for that Billy," she said, her voice already heavy with sleep.

"What, ma'am?"

She opened her eyes and lifted her head to look at him. "For holding my hand the entire time. I don't remember much other than dreams but I always felt your hand over mine. It was like you were willing me to stay here." She paused, a loving smile lighting up her tired features. "It worked."

Billy gulped back a sob. He'd been embarrassed to admit even to Dee that this was the exact reason why he'd made sure the president was never alone during those dark, supposed last days. He'd even made a schedule for times when he couldn't be there, ordering each babysitter to keep holding onto her no matter what. Something had just told him it was important.

"That was my intention, ma'am," he managed.

"I know," she whispered. Her hand went limp in his as she submitted to sleep.


	8. Running

"Come on, Billy, wake up! Wake up! Time is wasting. Come on, up up!"

Billy's sleepy brain flipped the singsong voice in his ear into a half dream, half memory of his teen sister shaking his bed and pleading with him to waste a perfectly nice chance to sleep in on a snow day to go sledding.

Putting his pillow over his head and growling as menacingly as possible usually sent Julia running, if only for a few minutes to get reinforcements.

"Shut the frak up," he grumbled through the fabric.

The distinctive giggle that grew louder as the pillow was ripped from his ears brought Billy swiftly into consciousness. It wasn't one of his obnoxious, immature sisters annoying him out of sleep. It was an obnoxious, immature president of the Twelve Colonies.

He swallowed the automatic apology rising in his throat when he realized Laura Roslin wasn't offended or even deterred. In fact, she was now perched precariously on her knees at the edge of his cot, shaking his shoulders.

He wondered momentarily if shifting his body to knock her presidential ass onto the floor would be committing a crime.

"Alright, I'm up, I'm up," he said instead, rolling over slowly and intentionally enough to allow his boss time to jump from the bed to the floor with a hum of delight and a silly flourish of her hands, like a gymnast sticking a landing.

By the time he stumbled toward the head to change, she was using the bulkhead as a makeshift barre, her leg stretched into some impossible position above her head.

She beamed at him playfully. There were many men and not a few women in the fleet who would give up rations for a week to see Laura Roslin clad in tiny fleet issue shorts and tanks doing suggestive things to the wall with her famed legs. He rolled his eyes and slammed the door of the head just firmly enough to remind her he wasn't one of them.

Billy looked into the mirror and cursed Jack Cottle. It had been his brilliant suggestion that the president take up some form of regular exercise to regain her strength during her recovery from cancer. She'd casually mentioned she enjoyed running on Caprica and the good doctor readily agreed to the suggestion but pulled Billy aside, out of earshot, to remind him not to let the president overdo it.

And that was how he found himself telling his boss that he too had run on Caprica and would be happy to join her on jogs through Colonial One a few mornings a week. Her eyes lit up and she immediately started about the task of finding them both workout clothes and shoes.

He'd failed to mention that he'd run on Caprica only under duress, in the form of sadistic, evil Coach Douglas screaming him onto the track. Or that the only times he'd ever gotten detention were when he accepted it rather than run around the field, tripping over his gangly legs and trying to ignore the taunts of his peers.

Still, he'd rationalized it couldn't be _that_ hard to keep up with a middle-aged woman still recovering from a long and almost fatal illness. And, at first, he'd been right. Their initial jaunts around the ship were made up of more brisk walking than running, then a combination of slow jogging and then walking and then running again. His long legs more than made up for any actual athletic prowess.

That was until she'd convinced Admiral Adama to join her one morning. Billy had the misfortune of occupying the presidential office when the older man ran into the room and slammed his hands onto the desk, a sweaty, giggly redhead in hot pursuit. He'd pulled her into his arms and growled a taunt about being beaten by the Old Man. Billy cleared his throat loudly when the Admiral followed it up with a seductive reminder that the president needed to increase her stamina.

So now, this morning and every morning following that disturbing conversation, Billy had to follow an increasingly determined and competitive President Laura as she ran not only to improve her health but also her sex life. It had become torturous _and_ disgusting.

By the time Billy exited the head in his borrowed running gear the president had pulled the Admiral's beat up, gray Galactica sweatshirt over her head. She met his eye, nodded, and set off through the corridor without a word.

Like everything Laura Roslin did, she'd turned her morning runs to her political advantage. Early risers in the bowels of Colonial One were treated to the sight of their president sweating just like a normal person as she passed by the line for the public head and the workers preparing breakfast in the galley. She'd run in place as she greeted colonists brave enough to address her, listening to their concerns and asking expertly about their families.

She'd even let it slip to the press that she was late for a morning press conference because she'd lost track of time while exercising. It took three days for one enterprising photographer to learn her route and snap a photo for the front page of the fleet rag that ran alongside the headline "Limber Laura," and a piece extolling the presumed presidential candidate's vastly improved health.

For whatever reason, this morning the president had more energy than usual and insisted on circling the ship twice rather than the usual painful but manageable one lap. By the time they returned to her office, Billy's hair and clothes were soaked with sweat and he was panting so hard he thought he might never catch his breath.

"Alright, I have a confession," he gasped as he watched the president, composed and breathing normally, sort through reports on her desk while nonchalantly doing warm down stretches. "I lied to you. I hate running. I only said I'd join you because Cottle wanted me to make sure you didn't kill yourself. Now, Madame President, I think you're trying to kill me."

Laura Roslin looked up, humor sparkling in her eyes over the rims of her glasses.

"Aw, you'd rather give up than admit you can't keep up with an old lady?" Her tone was sweet and innocent.

Billy narrowed his eyes at his boss.

"Only because you're part Cylon now."

He barely managed to dodge the pen cap aimed at his head.

"Alright, fine. You're off the hook. But only if you say it. Say the president is a better runner than me and I am a wimp."

Billy shook his head, laughing. He'd say anything if it meant he never had to wake up at the ass crack of dawn and follow a sexually motivated politician through a space obstacle course ever again.

"I freely admit it. Fifty-something, menopausal, barely alive President Roslin is a better runner than me and I am definitely a wimp."

Laura raised an eyebrow and her green eyes flashed to grey before she broke into laughter.

"So true. And what would your Petty Officer think of that, Billy?" Her comment was infused with mirth but her laughter died away at the strange expression it brought to her young aide's face.

"Dee already knows I'm soft. A wimp and a coward, too," he said with a sigh. The president's unintentional reminder of his failings in the eyes of his beloved Dualla had sucked all the playfulness out of the room.

Laura's brow furrowed in concern. Billy's characterization of Dee's opinion of him sounded less like self-deprecating supposition and more like direct quotes. He was often reluctant to offer too many details and she chided herself for not pressing for them in the weeks since her recovery. Any woman who could make her talented, sweet, adopted son look as crushed as he currently did was on the presidential shit list.

"Well, not a single one of those things is true. You're brave and smart and any girl would be lucky to have you. If Dee doesn't realize that, then maybe she's not good enough for you."

Billy winced and looked down at the floor. The president's unflagging regard for him did little to make him feel better. In fact, when she got angry or just vengeful, Dee would wonder aloud what would happen when Roslin discovered her "golden boy" was just a stupid, scared kid.

The president saw her aide's response to her words and realized now wasn't the time to try to make him feel better. She silently vowed to keep a closer eye on Dualla and what she now realized was not a perfectly carefree young romance.

"Go use my shower. I'll go after you," she said kindly. "And don't worry about going running anymore. I have a meeting with the Admiral tonight. I bet we can devise other ways to increase my stamina." She flicked her eyebrows playfully.

Billy blushed and smiled despite himself. The chance to use the president's tiny but private shower over fighting the battle of the public head down below made up even for having to imagine what happened in the presidential office during off hours.

"Oh, Gods. Thanks for the shower, Madame President. And the, um, heads up about tonight. I'll remember to tell the cleaners to sanitize the desk in the morning."

Satisfied with the blush coloring President Roslin's pale face, he turned his back on her to move toward the curtain and the deliciously inviting shower.

This time, the pen cap the president wielded hit him squarely in the back. Her delighted giggles followed him into the head and lifted his spirits despite his troubled thoughts.

He found himself thinking, against all odds, how wonderful life would be if all of his relationships with women were as easy as the one he shared with the most powerful one in the world.


End file.
